


left me alone (when i needed the light)

by voodoochild



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, POV Female Character, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Romani Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3316364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 2.05, taking Polly from the aftermath to her mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	left me alone (when i needed the light)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This is set immediately after Polly's rape at the hands of Campbell. It deals with what appears in canon to be her extreme disassociation and self-destructive impulses. It also discusses drug use and prostitution.
> 
> Heavy spoilers for 2.05 and 2.06 of Peaky Blinders. Title from Laura Marling's "What He Wrote", the song that actually does play under that scene in 2.05.
> 
> Written for halfamoon's prompts of "agency" and "weakness".

He had touched her lip, afterwards; that's what she keeps remembering.

Not the sex itself - that had been awful as expected, him huffing and puffing and lying heavy over her. Not how her cunt and thighs ache, because the poppy will take care of that. Not of why she walked into that jailhouse in the first place. She barely remembers that, a sick-sweet taste in her throat of despair and the knowledge that she'd whore herself out one more time to see Michael released.

She remembers that he had touched her lip afterwards. Hands shaking, his seed still sticky-hot on her thighs. As gently as he'd ever handled her, the great ox.

As if he'd realized he'd found his something precious (something stolen), and had broken it.

***

Ada knows, the dratted girl. 

And when Ada knows something, the rest aren't far behind.

Christ save her from meddling children, because Polly's barely sobered up, gotten out of the tub, and had the maid drain her bathwater when the door clicks open and Thomas is staring dead-eyed at her.

"Is it true?" he asks, fumbling for a cigarette from his case. Always had to keep his hands busy, that one.

She can't even bother to pretend. There's no use. He'll find out the whole squalid story one way or another.

"Yes."

He drops the cigarette. Looks for all the world like he's been shot, like he's just seen something die before his eyes. Slowly, he sits on her bed, watches her drying her hair, and his eyes fix upon the remnants she can't scrub away. Teeth marks on her neck. Bruises around both wrists.

"He's dead," Tommy rasps. Shaking with anger, the stupid righteous brat, and Polly knows that cold look in his eyes. "For this-"

"Oh, and it wasn't enough before?" she snaps. "What that man's done to this family, to Arthur and to Michael - it wasn't enough then for you?"

"They're not you." 

She narrows her eyes at him, the towel dropping to the floor, her hands missing the distraction already. His fingers close gently around hers, and she could scream. Rage. Weep. Everything she hasn't been able to do since it happened.

"Don't you dare place me above them, Thomas. I'm not so stainless."

He wasn't such a child that he can't remember the nights she came in smelling of spilled whiskey and sex she only had because the alternative was allowing her wretched brother to control her. She remembers black eyes and bruised knuckles, Arthur shouting and her screaming and Tommy gathering the little ones up in his room, telling them stories to keep them quiet. Remembers the day when Arthur Shelby left for good, at the point of her shotgun rather than lay another hand on her or the kids, how scared-hopeful the kids had looked.

Tommy knows every sordid little thing she'd ever done, and he's never once remonstrated her for it. Why now? Why is she so much better now that they've dragged themselves out of Small Heath and up to London? 

She realizes she's still holding his hand, far too tightly. She doesn't know why she hasn't let go of his hand.

(It's the one hand in this world that has never been raised against her in anger. He's her partner, her equal, her boy who loves her more than life itself, and he would never hurt her.)

He kisses her hand, so unbearably gently. "I'll burn him for this. I'll do it gladly, with a song in my heart. He *hurt* you, Polly. He hurt this family."

And here, with him, she can finally bear to crack open. Buries her face in his neck and screams. Lets all the anger that's been brewing under the alcohol bubble to the surface. She's shaking like a leaf, screaming and sobbing, and this has happened before.

She was never supposed to lose her children again. He had promised.

"Hush, Polly, sweetheart, we're going to fix this. You and me, yeah? You're with me on this?"

It takes a moment, but she catches her breath. "Yes," she breathes. "But you won't burn him."

"If you-"

She looks up at him, resolute. "I'm going to Epsom with you. And I'm going to shoot him somewhere he won't recover from."

***

When it's done, when she lets Campbell's body drop to the ground and walks through the Darby betting enclosure with blood staining her new dress, Polly feels something for the first time in a while.

Freedom.

Her family is safe, and she's free.


End file.
